WARNING: Political post--proceed at your own risk

One of my son's homework assignments for the weekend was to come up with a controversial solution to an important social issue of the day. The assignment sprung out of recent reading of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal.

I was surprised to learn that High School students are still reading this piece, and I don't understand why it is discussed as being shocking in this day and age. We are content to allow thousands of babies to be chopped into pieces and incinerated each day here in the US. In parts of Eastern Europe, young women are paid to get pregnant and abort at a certain, optimal number of weeks, when the fetus reaches the perfect stage for use in facial beauty products and treatments. In other parts of Europe it is legal to kill imperfect infants after they are born.

So if all of this is perfectly OK, why should the thought of eating them be so bad? Wouldn't it be less of a waste if all these millions of blobs of flesh were consumed?

I'm shocked that A Modest Proposal remains in the junior-year corpus in this day and age.

Shouldn't we keep English classes out of our bedrooms? Err, kitchens?

Isn't this sort of thing an infringement on a woman's right to menu plan?

I Sing the Body Electric (II)

You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

--Walt Whitman

Exploding heart

This weekend my daughter said, while looking at the dog:

"My heart feels like it will explode with joy when I look at him."

I know just what she means.

I Sing the Body Electric (I)

...the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,

It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,

It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,

The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,

To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more

--Walt Whitman

More on blood and roses

On Wednesday my BP asked me to listen to a brilliant talk by Dr. Peter Kreeft (one of my uber-heroes, from whom I may be taking a class in October!) called The Culture War.

He finished the talk with a connection to my recent strange dream on blood and roses.

The whole talk concentrated on the fact that we are at war, and reminded us of our weapons.

Christ's weapons.

The weapon of the cross.

He talked about our nation needing to be spiritually pruned, as ancient Israel was so often pruned. He said that we -will- bleed, but that a second spring will come, bringing new buds. But that it would not be without blood.

It never happens without blood. Without suffering.

So... I'm not sure what our Lord's message is to me through this. I don't have a direct correlation between the blood and roses of my dream and the spiritual battles that I am engaging in. But I do accept the consolation and the encouragement that they provide.

And I thank you, Lord.

Kreeft said:

We will bleed... a second springtime will come, with new buds. But not without blood. It never happens without blood, without sacrifice.

Friday

It occurred to me that Friday is the penultimate day of the week; a perfect blend of anticipation and fulfillment.

Let your scent carry me

Wake me in the dark of night
let me feel you in the texture of linen
whisper my name in the settling of beams
let your scent bridge the distance
and carry me
to dreams of you.

--Chantelle Franc

Today for example

Some days I want to scream with love and rage.

Blood red roses

A few nights ago I dreamt that I got out of bed to find my legs and the sheets splattered with blood and small chunks of flesh. When I began to clean up, and looked more closely at one of the fleshy bits, I discovered that they were, instead, small dark red rosebuds from a bouquet that someone had pushed down between the sheets.

Isn't that strange?

Return to lovemaking

Over the weekend I promised to write more about lovemaking, so I return to it now.

In that post I said that love making within a marriage is unitive, drawing husband and wife together. Making the two become one. In a sense, it creates love between. It builds it up and strengthens it.

Because of that, lovemaking is not simply to be looked to for pleasure and as a right, but for the unification it provides. It is a responsibility and obligation of marriage. Like taking vitamins (which hopefully taste good).

At some points in marriage, it may even have an aspect of sacrifice. (But then, isn't the best lovemaking sacrificial rather than self seeking?)

We are all called to chaste living. Even within marriage, where chastity takes the form of control over our minds, and avoiding the lustful use of eachother.

But how to properly manage any season of misplaced passions which arise? If a man finds himself attracted to another woman, perhaps even very strongly, what is he to do with that energy?

It would clearly be wrong to use a spouse by pretending they are the coveted one. But would it be wrong if he were to channel that passion toward his wife, resisting the urge to fantasize?

I am drawn to the idea of lovemaking as an act of worship. If we view it that way, why shouldn't we be able to channel -all- of our passions into this ultimate act of giving to our Lord, even those which are not properly ordered?

Know me more

In future I may call this the summer of the peach.

I found a longer and a shorter version of this poem, but preferred the shorter (below).

Upon reading, it occurs to me to wonder if the fruit Eve bit was a peach...

Know me more

Share a peach with me
softly ripe
and by it
know me more.

--Chantelle Franc

Lovemaking

Been thinking about lovemaking.

Love -making-.

Generation of love through the act of love.

More soon.

St. Augustine on Longing

The whole life of the good Christian is a holy longing. What you desire ardently, as yet you do not see... by withholding of the vision, God extends the longing, through longing he extends the soul, by extending he makes room in it. Let us long because we are to be filled... that is our life, to be exercised by longing.

--St. Augustine

The chaste journey

Our Christian journey is a lot like chaste courting.

It is a walk filled with acts of love, self restraint, and sweetness coupled with a terrible incompleteness, awaiting fulfillment.

No shine without friction

A gem cannot be polished without friction; the child of God cannot be perfected without adversity.

-- Author Unknown

Frozen with waiting

I am a spiral vine
grown 'round your tree.
When you are gone
I hold the empty shape
cradling your form
as if frozen
with waiting.

--Chantelle Franc

Breath alone

Pick up my call
but say nothing
your breath alone enough
to calm my soul.

--Chantelle Franc

Naked vulnerability and freedom

The other day as I drifted off to sleep I visited our Lord under the waterfall, and He spoke to me of skin.

It was important and compelling, but given that I fell asleep, I lost what it was that He actually disclosed.

In contemplating it this morning, I thought about the skin being the largest organ of the human body, and I thought about how I climb on His lap and sit, skin to skin against Him.

There is more, much more, to explore on this. But what did hit me is that in nakedness, there is both vulnerability and freedom. And that the two, perhaps, go hand in hand.

C.S. Lewis on valued things

The most valuable thing the Psalms do for me is to express the same delight in God which made David dance.

-- C. S. Lewis

One who loves to love

I've been thinking about loving.

About how some people are just easy to love. Some people you just love to love. Loving them is a joy.

In some special cases, actively loving them is all you may even want. Loving them is such a joy that nothing in return is required.

Any love that -is- returned is a wonderful gift, but loving them would be enough.

(Dayenu...)

I think mothers are good at this kind of love. They simply bask in the light shining from their little ones, expecting nothing back.

And that helps me grasp the mystery of God's love for us, despite how little we give Him in return.

He just sits and watches and loves loving us.

Even Soloman

I read a passage from 2 Kings this morning on how Solomon turned to the various gods of his hundreds of wives and concubines.

And I found this to be stunning and appalling and comforting all at the same time.

Here's a guy who is so favored by God that he is granted a specific wish and allowed to build the temple which was to become the center of Jewish worship for generations. His kingdom flourished and he was widely renowned for his wisdom and the blessings which stemmed from it.

And what does he do, this wisest of wise men?

He builds high places for other gods.

I -hope- that this was a Clinton-esque lack of judgment grown out of weakness for women rather than a true turning away of faith and belief in the great I AM.

Either way, it's appalling.

And yet comforting.

If one so very wise can be so very foolish, then my own lack of fidelity seems a bit more understandable.

How He puts up with us, I'll never know.

Finally

Today I feel like I am finally returning to myself. Praise God.

The Word and the message

This morning I heard that Marshall McLuhan died a convert to Roman Catholicism, and that his final public appearance was to give a talk on the Eucharist. He is known as one of the great intellectuals of our day.

Several of his phrases have become part of the American lexicon, such as the concept of a "global village". Another is "the medium is the message".

This morning I heard the latter phrase used in reference to Christ. He was (and is) the medium, and He was (and is) the message.

Interesting...

C.S. Lewis on Joy (5)

From Shadowlands:

"The most intense joy is not in the having, but in the desire. Delight that never fades, bliss that is eternal, is only yours when what you most desire is out of reach."

--C.S. Lewis

Miraculous faith

I recently read Mark's account of the last supper, in which Jesus speaks of one who would betray Him.

My mind wandered from there to the institution of the Eucharist, and how terribly scandalized the disciples must have been. Here was this man who knew the scriptures well enough to correct the Pharisees and teach in the temple, speaking of things which went directly against the law of Moses. To talk about drinking blood would have been shocking and revolting to this group which was raised to keep kosher.

Blood was -not- to be consumed.

I've thought about this aspect of the event before, but this morning realized that they had another reason to be shocked: Jesus said these things within the context of what was a well established and beloved family liturgy. Prayers over bread and cup were/are a standard part of the passover meal.

Jesus had the audacity to actually change prayers which had been prayed for generations, and to tell them to drink His blood.

It is a miracle that any of the disciples remained.

Heaven itself

"Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend."

--Plautus

Day 31: It is finished.

My month-long mini Lent ends today.

Thanks be to God.

Blackest of blasphemies

"When I told you that I didn't want you, it was the very blackest kind of blasphemy."

--Edward Cullen

Plutarch on the mind

"The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled."

--Plutarch

Day 29: knowledge of evil

Back to the garden I go...

I was thinking about the snake telling Eve that the tree would make her like God, knowing good and evil.

I thought about the word know, and the "biblical" use of the term as sexual union. I think that original sin came about because Eve -knew- evil. It became part of our spiritual DNA through her having come to -know- it.

It was the first act of covenantal infidelity which the Jews imitated throughout the OT history, and which we continue to perpetuate even now.

I'm beginning to think that all of Christianity centers around sexual union in one way or other.

Day 28: return to nakedness

I was looking at Genesis again over the weekend, this time at the story of the fall. The passage regarding covering the nakedness of Adam and Eve caught my attention. I thought about what it must have been like before the leather garments which God crafted for them.

It reminded me of how God strips away my clothing as I walk through the waterfall, so that I come to Him naked.

Francis de Sales, my patron saint, coached his protege Jeanne de Chantal about being naked before Him.

I think that in the fulfillment of time we will cast off all barriers to each other and to Him, returning to the nakedness of the garden, gloriously resurrected and unashamed.

Shakespeare on violent delights

These violent delights have violent ends
and in their triumph die,
like fire and powder, which,
as they kiss, consume.

--Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI

Day 27: the flavor of His love

Yesterday I was blessed by the opportunity to do my devotionals in the sanctuary, before Him. I tried hard to listen rather than just talk talk talking.

Not an easy task.

I went to Him through the waterfall, and He did indeed reveal something.

He told me that His love is a love which can only be satisfied by consumation.

On writing

"Writing is the shaping of letters to represent spoken words which, in turn, represent what is in the soul."

--The Muqaddimah of Ibn Khaldun

Day 26: Truth and Beauty

I've been thinking about the inextricable connection between truth and beauty, and what that means for ecclesial communions (aka churches and church denominations).

It's sort of an if A=B and B=C then A=C concept, though I'm sure many would argue against the overt simplicity of my premise.

Given that Christ = truth, and that beauty and truth cannot really be separated, therefore Christ = beauty, then what does that mean for forms of worship? I think that the more beauty there is, the more Christ must be there.

Peter Kreeft talks about tragic stories being more beautiful than comedies, and Christianity is founded on an initial, tragic series of events. It is beautiful in part due to the tragedy.

Those churches which continue to honor and remember the tragedy through liturgy, re-present the beauty, and continue it.

Anamnesis = re-presenting Christ's death = truth = beauty.

Day 25: more on the Big Bang

I was thinking more about God's action at the creation of time, and how it mirrors man's procreative process. I thought particularly about what precedes the eventual climax when our sexuality is rightly ordered and consecrated.

In rightly ordered sexuality, we come together covenantially in love. Throughout the act of lovemaking, there is an intensification of that love, and of passion, pleasure, and joy, which eventually culminates in a great unleashing of force.

Given that we are made in His image and likeness, I imagine such a buildup within Him as He prepared to create all of creation. I imagine His love and passion and pleasure and joy reaching such a fever pitch that it exploded, creating matter and energy and light and time and space.

And eventually, making man.

All of this taking place within a covenant of love.

No wonder the evil one works so hard at corrupting sexuality. It is the very power of God.

Picasso on computers

Computers are useless. They can only give you answers.

--Pablo Picasso

Pangs of lost love

From The Alchemy of Imagination and Love in Owen Barfield's The Rose on the Ash-Heap:

"He also learns about 'lost love and the pangs it induces in human hearts', and how, through experiencing romantic love, one can be enabled 'not merely to compose the most delightful and piercing-sweet songs, but actually to make many important discoveries concerning the secret workings of Nature--discoveries which he would never have been impelled to make at all, but for the loving interest which the loss of his Lady' awakens in the bereaved lover."

Where'd you go?

Where'd you go?
I miss you so,
Seems like it's been forever,
That you've been gone.

Please come back home...

--Fort Minor

Day 23: Bang indeed

I had a conversation yesterday about the compatibility of Christianity and evolution, and how well the big bang theory aligns with the Biblical narrative.

Can you imagine the results of God saying "Let there be light"? How could it be anything other than cataclysmically explosive?

Bang indeed.

I contemplated this again during my devotional time this morning, and thought about how very masculine our God is. The way He begins life among us now is not so very different from the way He began the life of the universes. The Big Bang was essentially a cosmic, life giving, mind-blowing orgasm.

It's one more reason that sexuality is sacred. In each act of procreation (or potential procreation), God's creative power and force culminates in a grand climax, mirroring that first explosion.

All of creation are fractals reflecting His very being.

Bang indeed.

Undiminished

A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunitic can put out the sun by scribbling the word 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.

-- C. S. Lewis

Day 22: Rose on the ash heap

Yesterday my BP pointed me at Owen Barfield's reflections on the Christian imagination, and thank goodness he did. I've been gradually losing myself over the past weeks, and reading a few papers on this subject brought me back to who I am.

Thank God for him. I needed rescue.

One of Barfield's fictional pieces is called The Rose on the Ash-Heap. Here is a segment from that piece which I found compelling:

"'...among the sooty weeds struggling up out of the refuse on the Ash-Heap', a garden Rose is growing. Like imagination and love in the modern world, this Rose was 'a sad and spindly-looking object with one dull red knob at the top, yet there was some magic in the twilight which attracted Sultan's attention to it. It was now nearly dark, and many stars had already appeared in the sky. Sultan looked at the flower again. Yes, it was glowing! It seemed to be giving forth a light of its own into the dusk!... And at last Sultan realized that it was not merely glowing but also singing to him. It was singing something like this:

Earth despairs not, though her Spark
Underground is gone--
Roses whisper after dark
Secrets of the Sun.

That got me thinking about how Seal's song Kissed by a Rose echoes this theme. Probably disconnected, but perhaps not.

Either way, it got me to try something new; I bought my first iTunes song, despite having had an iPod for several years.

And it rescued me from the doldrums in which I'd been wallowing.

Mocking trifles

Our misery is that we thirst so little for these sublime things, and so much for the mocking trifles of time and space.

-- Charles H. Spurgeon

Day 21: Wasn't Lent enough?

Wasn't Advent enough? Wasn't Lent enough? Do I truly need another season of darkness, this one worse than the other two combined?

The answer, of course, is that I must indeed need it. And intellectually I accept, and I pray that it is efficacious.

But it doesn't feel like it.

No, not at all.

Prophecy by Bananarama...

It's a cruel, cruel summer.

St. Faustina on Temptation

I've been trying to find a quote from St. Faustina on temptation, but haven't had any luck, so I'll have to paraphrase it here.

Temptation gives us a chance to demonstrate our obedience to God.

I like this concept. Instead of saying "no" to something, we are saying "yes" to SomeOne.

Day 15: The lure of Twilight

I finished reading the first of the Twilight books, which I've been intending to get to for some months. I wanted to see what all the buzz was about; I like to understand sweeping cultural phenomena. Dan Brown's DaVinci Code also fell into this camp, though I have to say that Stephanie Meyer is a better writer than Mr. Brown. Her heroes are empathetic and likeable, and while the story contains a bit of action/adventure, it doesn't rest on action alone.

All that on the plus side.

I can see why tween and teen girls go ga-ga over it. Edward is a beautiful bad boy who is saved from his own darkness by the love of a good woman (er, girl). It is outrageously, unapologetically romantic. I'm guessing that if the Harlequin Romance crowd discovers it there could be a whole new wave of fans.

While we aren't talking Romeo and Juliet quality, the love and desire and control and sacrifice portrayed reflect what is in fact true and beautiful. Our feminine hearts cry out for this kind of love, for a hero who will deny himself and save us from the threats of the world. And while I don't know how many guys read it, it is in some ways a good model for young men, demonstrating heroic virtue and self denial.

Interesting stuff. And I think for once it might not be a horrible cultural influence unlike much of what our young people receive.

As for me? I found myself alternating between being Bella and being Edward. Between lightness and dark, between darkness and light. Temptation and desire, restraint and self indulgence.

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Day 14: Who am I?

This weekend I spent a bit of time behind the waterfall and thinking about who the core me is. The true and beautiful core that God wants to whittle me down to.

(Great grammar, eh?)

He showed me a few traits, and I'm going to begin compiling a list. Given that it will only include good traits I'm afraid it will read like vanity, so I'm not going to make it public.

I'm doing it to help me focus on strengthening these characteristics. Or more accurately, to help me get better at stripping away everything that obscures them.

And the core, of course, is love. He made me to be a lover.

So I am working on being a better lover.

Wish me luck.

Day 13: Synchronicity

Yesterday's sermon centered around the spiritual gifts, and God's plan in giving each of us specific gifts according to His purpose. He used the analogy of us all being different types of fruit trees, and more specifically, comparing apples to peaches.

Yes; he centered on the peach tree.

Though it wasn't his main focus, the deacon connected with my own meditations of becoming fully ourselves.

I love the way He interweaves things.

Day 12: Yawning hunger

I wonder how the words "yawning" and "hunger" ended up going together.

It doesn't make sense, but at the same time the phrase "yawning hunger" feels so right.

It implies a vastness, a stretching achiness that fits a certain state of being. The one I'm in now, for example.

Day 11: more on peaches

I woke with peaches on the brain again.

This time I thought about how the fullness of a fruit's existence isn't realized unless it is consumed. If it sits on the tree until it falls off and then withers and rots, God will make use of it by providing food for creatures, fertilizing the soil, and maybe even growing a new tree. But for the true magnificence of a peach to be realized, it must be eaten by a human, who can not only comprehend the beauty of its deliciousness, but can also wonder at its creation.

That made me think about what this means for us, which led me to CS Lewis' quote:

"...it is in the lover that the beloved tastes her own delightfulness."

For our true magnificence to be realized, we also must be consumed. We must share the abundant fruitfulness of our being, even to the point of complete ravishment.

Perhaps utter ravishment should in fact be our goal.

So... my tasks are to identify what parts of me are delicious, to work on building up those parts, and then to be generous even to the point of pain in sharing them.

Sounds simple enough.

Day 10: the perfect peach

I woke thinking of peaches this morning. Not sure why, except that I ate one last night. It was very good, but the color and texture on one side was just a bit off. Not nastily so, but enough.

In my peachy waking I thought again about our becoming more intensely ourselves in the fulfillment of time, as I wrote of here. When the banished world returns to the garden of Eden and we dance there, partaking of the fruit of all the trees growing on the banks of the river of life, what will that fruit be like?

Will a peach lose it's peachy essence at the end, becoming some sort of washed out spiritual form? Is that the type of meal Yeshua himself plans to eat with us in paradise?

It seems unlikely.

The peaches there must be intensely, purely, and perfectly peachy. Without blemish. Firm of flesh and juicy beyond belief. Inhaling their perfume alone must be nearly orgasmic.

And if the fruit of the trees and vines are to reach perfection of their very selves, becoming a distillation and concentration of their very beings, how could we do less?

Do we become spirit which simply reflects the shape of Yeshua, having lost our "us-ness"?

It seems unlikely.

I wonder what distillation of Eva will be like? What aspects of me will intensify, and which will burn away? Which parts are the real me, the essence of me, the true and the beautiful and the delicious?

Gives me something to think about, and to start working on now...

St. Augustine on the desire of the heart

Yet there is another, interior kind of prayer without ceasing, namely the desire of the heart. Whatever else you may be doing, if you but fix your desire on God's sabbath rest, your prayer will be ceaseless. Therefore, if you wish to pray without ceasing, do not cease to desire. The constancy of your desire will itself be the ceaseless voice of your prayer. And that voice of your prayer will be silent only when your love ceases. For who are silent if not those of whom it is said: Because evil has abounded, the love of many will grow cold?

The chilling of love means that the heart is silent. If your love is without ceasing, you are always crying out; if you are always crying out, you are always desiring; and if you desire, you are calling to mind your eternal rest in the Lord.

Day 8 take 2: fully ourselves

I had the honor of counseling someone in prayer this morning, a sweet spirit who's humility is deep and painful. My heart continues to ache for her this afternoon, and for a few other friends who's crosses are difficult.

We talked about Paul's apparent abhorrence of and battle with the flesh, and about my BP's teaching on our being made in the image and likeness of God; the imago Dei. He taught us that the Christian journey is to become more and more who God made us to be. The more we transform ourselves into His image, the more truly ourselves we become.

In the fullness of time we will walk in resurrected bodies, finally and at last fully ourselves. His plan for completion is not that we disappear, but that we transform.

And so it is not that we become less ourselves, but more ourselves. When we are most like Him, we are most fully us.

It is not that we either become like Jesus, or remain like ourselves. The two become one.

And I think that when I have this discussion with Paul, he will agree with me.

(Click here to read more on this in a later post...)

Day 8: So much for commitment

Given that I do not have my friend Pranayama mama's gifts, I've decided to rescind my promise to self re. posting thoughts daily unless they make worthwhile reading. I'm still committed to actually having a thought or two, I've simply changed my mind about inflicting them on you.

Today I actually have something to pass along.

Last week I wrote about hashing through Matthew 14:22-36 with a dear friend. This same friend comes to my Tuesday woman's group in which we eat breakfast, discuss the gospel reading for the day, and pray for eachother. Here's how generous God is:

Today's reading was this exact passage.

It is amazing how attentively God watches and interacts with us, and that He would ordain things in just such a way. He likes to show us that He is paying attention.

Unbelievable.

Day 6: Father relationships

A central theme of prayer after this morning's mass was father relationships. All three people that my team prayed brought issues related to fathers and fathering. Within these three were all sorts of variations; prayer for a father who is dying and angry, prayer for a father who struggles to provide for his family, prayer for a father who is wracked with guilt about the damage of divorce, prayer for a father who accidentally shot and killed his son while hunting, prayer for a father who must hand over his foster daughter to her birth dad.

Prayer to our Father, for our fathers.

And I lift my prayers also for our priestly fathers.

Lord, strengthen them all. Raise them up into strength and holiness. Make us women worthy of aiding in their formation. Guard and guide and protect them.

Amen.

Day 5: It's hard to hear Him while rushing

No news flash this: it's hard to hear God while rushing around in the busyness of life.

Slept in today (ah bliss!) and then drove to visit my Mom for the afternoon.

I increasingly love to drive longish distances for the chance it provides to gaze at the world and think, though my thoughts didn't go very deep either to or fro. No great mystery of life solved.

Thought more about the Matthew passage in which Peter walks on water, and suspect that it might have been intended to connect with OT water miracles such as the parting of the Red Sea and the Jordan. Interesting that instead of parting the waters for Peter, He gave him power directly over them.

I still need to dig more deeply into this passage and see what Matthew was trying to tell the Jews about who Peter was.

Day 4: Back to the waterfall

This morning while approaching my waterfall, I remembered something I'd meant to write about a few weeks ago.

Usually when I go through the pounding water, all my clothes are stripped away so that I approach Him naked, the way He sees me anyway. On days when my sin is particularly apparent, the water also strips away the sins which have latched on to my flesh like ugly black leeches. Sometimes I enter with scabs covering the sore places where I've ripped them off myself, and the scabs are sloughed off and the soreness healed.

But one day, as I entered, I was not able to let a certain area of sin go. It connected to me and trailed off behind me like a thick rope, traveling back through the waterfall, and tugging on me as I tried to move forward. I stood naked before Him, simpering and posing, trying to hide the chain of sin behind me and trying to move toward Him. But the cord was pulled as tightly as it could be stretched, and I could move no further unless I let go.

How silly I was to try to hide it, to pretend prettiness before the One who knew my every action, my every ugliness. How silly to carry my sin in to Him, to reach for Him with one hand while gripping my sin with the other.

That day I never did let go and climb up on His lap. I couldn't seem to.

And that, my friends, is purgatory. Standing in the presence of God and holding on to our sins, until the beauty and fire of His presence burns off our desire for anything but Him.

Consuming fire, come.

Day 3: a gift of friendship

1/10 of the way in to this month-long voyage. Not that I'm counting.

Today He is speaking to me about friendship.

Friendship and I have been a bit estranged throughout adulthood. I'm guessing it has something to do with maternal bonding, for after all; if it's not one thing, it's your mother. In this case, my poor mum had about all she could do to hold herself together, so I was left flying solo from an early age. I think that at core I am wary of women which means that even when telling friends all sorts of life details, I remain at a distance. The personal disclosures masquerading as intimacy.

Friendship with men is a whole other story. With the opposite sex there is always some element of conquest in the mix, whether obvious or subtle. In my case it was probably exacerbated by my father's distance and infidelity. So I don't trust men either, but it is a different sort of mistrust. Their betrayal seems like a known quantity, whereas the daggers of females are cloaked and take you by surprise.

With this as my foundation, it's no shock that friendship is problematic for me. I essentially don't trust either sex. (OK, I haven't tested transgendered individuals, but something tells me the trust level there probably wouldn't outshine the other two.)

But back to what God is doing now.

Over the past few years He's been changing all that, and building up friendships for me with both men and women.

Real friendships.

Deep friendships.

Recently He sent me a lovely, lovely woman with whom to connect, and the bond has quickly grown thicker and stronger. The friendship is blossoming almost like a romance but without the danger; it has a sweetness and certainty that I've never experienced with a woman.

And the blossoming has come at just the right time, to cover me now when I feel vulnerable.

I never even knew that I wanted this gift, and yet He chose to give it.

I'm not sure how many times I have said that His generosity astonishes me, but I must say it again. My unworthiness of it is outrageous.

***

I am feeling sorry for you, beloved reader, in that you are trying to keep reading what may well devolve into humdrum banality as I proceed in documenting these daily reflections. I will try to punctuate them with stuff that has a bit more zest every few days, to keep the yawns down to a dull roar.

Day 2: Reminder to go to my waterfall

I am reading Gregory Maguire's Wicked, the Wizard of Oz story told from the witch's perspective. I've been a fan of the Oz books since I was little, and have been collecting the beautiful old hardcovers for a few years. Maquire's version is rather dark and joyless, so why I'm persevering through it was a mystery until last night. Before falling asleep I read the quote below, and am now contemplating the connection between the waterfall of my imagiplation:

"I had a Lives of the Saints" once. Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall--she was a Munchkinlander mystic, six or seven centuries ago. Don't you remember? She wanted to pray, but she was of such beauty that the local men kept pestering her for... attention."

"To preserve her sanctity, she went into the wilderness with her holy scriptures and a single bunch of grapes. Wild beasts threatened her, and wild men hunted after her, and she was sore distressed. Then she came upon a huge waterfall coursing off a cliff. She said, "This is my cave," and took off all her clothes, and she walked right through the screen of pounding water. Beyond was a cavern hollowed out by the splashing water. She sat down there, and in the light that came through the wall of water she read her holy book and pondered on spiritual matters. She ate a grape every now and then. When at last she had finished her grapes, she emerged from the cave. Hundreds of years had passed. There was a village built on the banks of the stream, and even a mill dam nearby. The villagers shrank in horror, for as children they had all played in the cavern behind the waterfall--lovers had trysted there--murders and foul deeds had taken place there--treasure had been buried there--and never had anyone ever seen Saint Aelphaba in her naked beauty. But all Saint Aelphaba had to do was open her mouth and speak the old speech, and they all knew that it must be she, and they built a chapel in her honor. She blessed the children and the elderly, and heard the confessions of the middle-aged, and healed some sick and fed some hungry, that sort of stuff, and then disappeared behind the waterfall again with another bunch of grapes. I think a bigger bunch this time. And that's the last anyone has seen of her."

There are a number of connections to my contemplative waterfall experiences. I also go behind the coursing water to a cavern that is lit. I also go to pray, though in my case Yeshua meets me there. I am also naked, though it is the purging waters that strip away my clothing. I also am strengthened by my time there, to better perform His works of ministry and charity.

I think that His gift of this passage lies in further contemplation of what it said about time, given that time weighs heavily at present. I think He is saying that if I spend time with Him behind the waterfall that He created for me, time will pass much more quickly in the "other" world. The "real" world.

This is confirmation of my beloved priest's urging as well.

It is a good gift.

Day 1 of a month-long voyage

I've decided to dedicate the next month to exploration of God's communication with me, and am committing myself to capturing the key message He delivers each day.

Figure if I put it out before you, my beloved reader, that I will actually do it.

So, here goes for day 1.

A dear friend has been struggling through the startup of a new ministry. The leaders of the ministry have faced a number of trials throughout the process, and one woman struggles particularly with discouragement. As my friend prayed about what she was to do to help this woman and the ministry overall, she heard from God that she should trust Him and get out of the boat. Her initial response was that she was to withdraw from leadership; that the boat was the ministry and that she was to exit it and let Him work out the details.

In typical style, she dropped that bombshell on me via text message, and then wouldn't answer my phone calls. She said she was about to send off an email about it. I pleaded via text that she slow down and pray more, not having any details about what she had heard in prayer.

The email didn't come through, and she eventually did call and fill me in. In talking with her more about Matthew 14:22-33, I pointed out that Peter did the opposite of what she would be doing. He stepped out of the relative calm and protection of the boat and into the unknown and fearful wild. Into the turmoil and drama. If she left the ministry, she would be leaving the drama instead of entering it and trusting Yeshua to bring her through. He said to Peter, and says to her, "Why did you doubt?"

The reality is that God's desire is for the discouraged woman to recognize the attacks of the evil one and begin to develop strategies for fighting them off. He desires increased freedom for her, and will grow her into that freedom through this ministry. And my friend is part of that journey toward freedom. She plays a key role in this woman's life, at this time and place. But she must walk out upon the troubled waters, and expect the miraculous to result from her obedience.

Oh, and by the way; the reason I didn't receive her resignation email? Her keyboard began acting up, and some of the keys wouldn't work. One of them was the letter "H", the first letter in the name of the ministry, and it's acronym, which she tried to type.

So what did I learn from this, on Day 1 of my own voyage of discovery? That God is -so- in charge.

Distraction welcome...

I am busy. And glad to be so.

Do you wonder at my silence?

If I begin to speak of my love for you
I may not be able to stop.

--Chantelle Franc

Creation reveals the mind of its creator

"To a mind attuned to observation and deduction, the product reveals the mind of its creator. ... Take Mozart--frenzied gaiety and weeping put to music. The agony of the man is at times unbearable."

Sarah McLachlan: I Love You (song lyrics)

(Listen here.)

I have a smile
stretched from ear to ear
to see you walking down the road.

We meet at the lights
I stare for a while
the world around us disappears.

It's just you and me
on my island of hope
a breath between us could be miles.

Let me surround you
my sea to your shore
let me be the calm you seek.

Oh and every time
I'm close to you
there's too much I can't say
and you just walk away.

And I forgot
to tell you
I love you.
And the night's too long
and cold here without you.
I grieve in my condition
for I cannot find the words to say I need you so.

Oh and every time
I'm close to you
there's too much I can't say
and you just walk away.

And I forgot
to tell you
I love you.
And the night's too long
and cold here
without you.
I grieve in my condition
For I cannot find the words to say I need you so.

Day and Night

My heart yowls like a cat in maddened heat.

--Chantelle Franc

The bitter and the sweet

I'm looking back on a week that has been both bitter and sweet, and thinking about the Passover Seder. Liturgy and ritual are so very satisfying for entering into the richness of God's plan for us.

In this Seder we ceremonially partake of Maror, the bitter herbs which symbolize the bitterness of slavery. When done right (by my book,) the bright sharpness of horseradish makes your eyes water and your nose run. No mild, dull ache for me, but a sudden harsh slap of reality, the pain of which lingers on the tongue.

Later in the meal we dip the matzo in Charoset, a sweet mixture of apples, nuts, and cinnamon.

Still later, we eat matzo with both horseradish -and- Charoset, mixing the bitter and the sweet.

That has been my week; the sharp bite of reality softened by gentle tastes of sweetness. The two co-mingling.

Actually, it's been the tenor of the last few years, the bitter and the sweet dancing in and out, taking turns, intermingling, becoming harder and harder to separate.

Lord, thank you for the sweetness. Thank you for the bitterness. Thank you for the dance.

Ain't it the truth

I generally avoid temptation unless I can't resist it.

-- Mae West

May he have rest

It has been a challenging week for my beloved priest, and while he for the most part lives nestled in Christ's peace, I can't help but want prayer for him during times of potential discouragement like this.

I thought about him this morning, and how he truly stands in persona Christi, in the person of Christ, for us. Just as we consume Christ at the mass, we consume this, our priest. We approach him day in and day out with our complaints and our demands, our sorrows and our hungers, and we eat him alive with very little gratitude. As if we are deserving of the gift of his life to us.

And like Christ, he says "It's all right. I love you."

And he means it.

But his eyes are tired. His very being must be tired.

I pray he may feel our love returned, and rest.

Since you asked

You are
a strong hand
a shouted truth
a bar raised

You are
shelter on a stormy night
a cozy lap
a whispered prayer

You are
friend, lover, champion
hero, teacher, student
thinker, dreamer, muse

You are
escape, release, rescue
comfort, confidante, joy

You are
an undiscovered feast
an untried banquet
a laden table, beckoning

You are
dream made man

--Chantelle Franc

Red red wine

The other night I found myself longing for the softening effects of my old friend red wine in a way I haven't for months. Red wines had a particular type of soporific reality blurring that I preferred over my other friends; tequila and vodka. Quality didn't matter much; I never developed into an oenophile, or for that matter, an alcoholic (despite my diligent pursuit).

So as the afternoon wore on and a sweet sadness filled my spirit, I longed for the old familiar red wine haze. I had a glass or two, and found that it didn't perform as remembered. Instead, dishwashing drove the sadness away for a bit. It's back of course, and is destined to be present for some time to come.

It is what it is.

But I learned that you can't go home again. Not even to a lair in the Burgundy depths of a bottle.

I'm gonna miss you

I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket.

--Fergie

Sweetest discoveries

In the sorest trials God often makes the sweetest discoveries of Himself.

-- Author Unknown

Wonder is the root of all knowledge

Wonder rather than doubt is the root of all knowledge.

--Abraham Joshua Heschel

Craving the light of God

He who is satisfied has never truly craved, and he who craves for the light of God neglects his ease for ardor.

--Abraham Joshua Heschel

Martha plus Judas does not equal Mary

Last night one of our lovely young deacons greeted me by saying that he knew with certainty that God was very, very pleased with me.

That was his greeting. The first words he spoke to me.

He is a gentle, sweet spirit, and was undoubtedly encouraging my propensity toward operating ala Martha. And it did encourage me.

But it also convicted me.

It's bad enough that I congratulate myself for my Martha busyness, neglecting to be Mary in the process. But in prayer this morning I realized something even worse; I also use my Martha to justify my Judas. As if the good works that I do somehow counterbalance the evil that I do.

But it doesn't work that way.

My works are good, and He is pleased by them. As this morning's 1 Samuel passage read, He remembers the prayers prayed and the alms offered. But they can't compare in weight to the sin. It's not a balancing act. The loving touches that a wife abuser offers do not lesson the damage and shame of the punches. Just the opposite; they become a mockery of what should be beautiful.

So this morning was a time of gentle chiding. He is so very gentle with me.

He wants more of my attention. More of the attention I direct toward objects which are indeed lovely, but less lovely than He.

I am encouraged by the quote I posted earlier today; I work toward obedience through the gift of faith God has granted me, and I hope for the bloom of patience upon it.

Obedience is the fruit of faith

Obedience is the fruit of faith; patience, the bloom on the fruit.

--Rossetti

(This was good for me to hear today.)

Not so sweet...

Sometimes it feels like going on vacation just isn't worth it. I'm back in the saddle and getting clubbed.

The promise of apple blossoms

I woke thinking about the fall of Adam and Eve, and of how certainly I would make the same choice that they did.

I thought about the beauty of God's creation, and of the splendor of that first garden and all that was in it. And I wondered about that tree; how lovely must it have been?

It must have been very lovely indeed.

I took a look at what the scriptures had to say:

Gen. 3:6 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it.

It was pleasing to the eye, and desirable.

I'm guessing that was an understatement. A vast one. I'm guessing that the tree was incredibly beautiful, and the fruit magically enticing.

And I thought about my own struggles.

How delicious it would be to approach the tree, to press up against its roughness, to smell the fragrance of leaf and bark and temptation.

I would climb up and rest among the boughs, feeling the wind swaying my cradle, and reach out now and then for a taste of certain sweetness.

I completely understand the desire Lewis describes; to want to get inside to where all the beauty comes from.

And it is hard to understand how sin can be so thoroughly enmeshed in beauty. The beauty is so very understandably desirable.

How can the wanting of such beauty be wrong?

And then God, in his generousity, sent this reading in my morning devotional:

2 Cor. 12:6-10 Although if I should wish to boast, I would not be foolish, for I would be telling the truth. But I refrain, so that no one may think more of me than what he sees in me or hears from me because of the abundance of the revelations. Therefore, that I might not become too elated, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

I can't say that I pray that my thorn be removed, because it is too enmeshed with the beauty. The beauty is too beautiful to sacrifice.

But He shows me that in this struggle, in this recognition of my weakness, in the knowledge that I too would eat of the beautiful fruit, He is strong. As I acknowledge the draw of the beauty, He grows in strength in me. As I surrender all pretense of courage and honor and fortitude, He rises up.

So I dream of the tree, and rest in His strength, trusting that the garden He has created for me is perfect in every way, despite the beauty of the tree beyond it's borders. Perhaps even enhanced by it.

And I am comforted by the sight of it in the distance, and the scent of apple blossoms, promising fruit.

Shakespeare on love (13)

From Much Ado About Nothing:

I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love.

Love seeks union

Love seeks union.

This is what I thought about as I luxuriated in bed this morning, surrounded by silence.

That, and it's correlary; unappeasable want.

Cottage life...

I am at the cottage. The weather has been iffy; today the sun is shining, a steady wind blowing, and a coolish 70+ temp.

Tomorrow is my beloved daughter's 21 birthday. Driving here, just the two of us, was a great gift. Our talk was sweet. I am stunningly unworthy of the gift of relationship with her which God has chosen to grant me, in His great mercy. I sometimes wonder if the quick turnaround with her, and the degree of warm appreciation with which she gifts me, may be a portent of a shortened life. I would not have expected it until I am gray(er) and she was in the throes of her own childrearing.

Stunningly generous, He is.

I'm sitting at the shady end of the new deck on the front of the main building, watching the kids down on the beach below me. The view is wonderful; the deck is a great addition. I'd be sitting in the sun in an effort to cover up all the imperfections of my pasty arms and legs, but when I do, I can't see the screen. So it's the shade for now. Vanity will have to wait.

And I'm typing to you, beloved reader, of the silly minutae. Wishing you were here, perhaps.

It's been hard to carve away devotional time this trip. Each time I try someone I love appears and wants to chat. Sometimes multiple people. This morning a flock of young people appeared, and my sister in law said that it was because of the Bible on my lap. I'm certain that is true. It draws invisibly.

My daughter reported that her grandmother annointed her with holy water this morning. Apparently she does so every day for her little beagly mutt, and BD wanted in. Sounds like I need to give my mother in law a bottle of annointing oil so that she can both bless -and- annoint. BD is drawn to sacramentals. I love it.

As the young ones gathered around we talked about today's North Korea test missiles, followed by the apparently unjust and no longer necessary trade embargos with Cuba. Yesterday it was how hand sanitizer would kill us all in 20 years, and a comparison of fecal matter quantities between tofurkey italian sausages and Oscar Myer weiners.

It is a joy to watch energetic dedication to causes. Fire burns hot in the young.

I am more banked coals and smoulder. Waiting for a puff of warm breath to bring the fire to life.

Breathe on me...

Shakespeare on love (12)

From a Midsummer Night's Dream:

Love looks not with the eyes,
but with the mind,
and therefore is winged Cupid
painted blind.

Beauty will save the world

Just came across a line of T shirts which read:

"Beauty will save the world."

Word.

Meow

Lay your jacket down for me
so that, cat like
I can sniff your cuffs and collar
push my head into the dark tunnel of your arm
and rub my face against the shiny lining.
I'll knead myself a black nest
sink down into your scent
and start to purr.

--Chantelle Franc

One word

Dayenu.

Christ in the howling wilderness

You will never find Jesus so precious as when the world is one vast howling wilderness. Then he is like a rose blooming in the midst of the desolation, a rock rising above the storm.

-- Robert Murray M'Cheyne

All curves and sweet intoxication

I am besotted.
As soaked with love
as a wine-steeped pear;
drenched red
with heady sweetness
and the desire
to be consumed.

--Chantelle Franc

"The Cloud of Unknowing" on Sensuality

From Chapter 66:

Before ere man sinned was the Sensuality so obedient unto the Will, unto the which it is as it were servant, that it ministered never unto it any unordained liking or grumbling in any bodily creature, or any ghostly feigning of liking or misliking made by any ghostly enemy in the bodily wits. But now it is not so: for unless it be ruled by grace in the Will, for to suffer meekly and in measure the pain of the original sin, the which it feeleth in absence of needful comforts and in presence of speedful discomforts, and thereto also for to restrain it from lust in presence of needful comforts, and from lusty plesaunce in the absence of speedful discomforts: else will it wretchedly and wantonly welter, as a swine in the mire, in the wealths of this world and the foul flesh so much that all our living shall be more beastly and fleshly, than either manly or ghostly.

Three classes of men

"There are three classes of men; lovers of wisdom, lovers of honor, and lovers of gain."

--Plato

Love you Janis

On Saturday night I went to see a local production of "Love, Janis". It was unbelievable (in a good way).

First off, I confess that I've always been a Joplinaphobe, lumping her in with Hendrix and a few of their contemporaries who's psychedelically strident style always made me feel too high with no way to come down.

(And not in a good way.)

I was born a few years to late to get the whole hippy thing. Not to mention that when buzzed I preferred either the humorous (ala Zappa) or the trippy mellow (ala Pink Floyd). I just never understood the screaming, jangling, psychodelic vibe. My nerves couldn't take it.

But I digress.

Given my predilections and prejudices, I never knew that Janis was rich, and soulful, and bluesy. Not sure how I could have not known it, but I didn't. I also didn't know she had a southern dialect. Or that 27 is so desperately young an age at which to die.

Her story in this show, told through real letters to her family, song, and snippets from interviews with the media, portrays a hungry heart. A heart which yearned the way this blog yearns. It presented one talented girl's search to fill that hunger in all the wrong ways. The beauty of her soul shone through and all you wanted to do was save her.

All I wanted to do was save her.

To show her He who loves her. He who is all in all.

I wonder if she is in heaven? If she is, I imagine that she may be one of the specially beloved ones; she was so very, very hungry.

I'm going to buy some of her music. And perhaps add her to my list of souls I request to pray for me.

Shakespeare on love (11)

VALENTINE
Why, how know you that I am in love?

SPEED
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd, like
Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a
love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that
had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his
A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;
to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears
robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas.

When will our eyes meet?

Warning: TOTALLY hokey music alert!

This morning I woke up with Barry Manilow's "Weekend in New England" (aka "when will I hold you again") running through my head.

I know, I know...

(I don't even dare tell you the little ditty that I couldn't ditch while showering on Tuesday.)

I'm not sure where either of them came from, but I can at least make some kind of a connection for today's version.

Last night's class centered around the "irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired" (as Frost put it.) We are born with the longing for completion as a central part of our being.

"Weekend in New England" was popular when I was a teenybopper, with no experience of love. I'd never had a boyfriend, and had no idea of what the pain of separation felt like.

But something in my soul sang along with this song and knew it to be true. I felt the longing, the yearning, the loss. And the ache it created in my heart was somehow also a pleasure.

Here are the lyrics, for your delectation.

Last night I waved goodbye
Now it seems years
I'm back in the city
Where nothing is clear
But thoughts of me holding you
Bringing us near
And tell me

When will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?

Time in New England
Took me away
To long, rocky beaches
And you by the bay
We started a story
Whose end must now wait
And tell me

When will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you again?

I feel the change coming
I feel the wind blow
I feel brave and daring
I feel my blood flow

With you, I could bring out
All the love that I have
With you, there's a heaven
So earth ain't so bad
And tell me

When will our eyes meet?
When can I touch you?
When will this strong yearning end?
And when will I hold you . . .
again?

Naked confession time: sometimes I channel Dolly Parton. You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can't take the trailer park out of the girl. The occasional taste of Barry Manilow gives me the same kind of trashy pleasure that Spam does.

There; I've said it.

Once in a while, I actually eat spam.

And I like it.

Scent of love

I am focusing on the Song of Songs in this week's Love Letters from Home class, and because of it am increasingly interested in scent.

I find myself wanting to smell the scent of love. I want to breathe deeply of his scent, and see how it varies from beard to nape, from throat to wrist.

I imagine his fingertips to smell faintly of copper and salt.

In the fulfillment of time, will there be sweat?

Missing you

I have been soooo busy lately that I haven't made time to post! Preparing for and teaching the Love Letters from Home series is consuming my mental and time bandwidth, amongst other adventures. Two more sessions to go. This coming week will center around what the Song of Songs tells us, along with the concept of desire as an experience of God. The series will culminate with the annunciation and the Eucharist as consummation of the wedding feast.

But I miss this place!

Hunger for truth

Truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.

-- Nadine Gordimer

On the Lady from The Great Divorce

"...only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face."

"...there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life."

"...her beauty brightened so that I could hardly see anything else,"

"...the invitation to all joy, singing out of her whole being like a bird's song on an April evening, seemed to me such that no creature could resist it."

"Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives."

"Love shone not from her face only, but from all her limbs, as if it were some liquid in which she had just been bathing."

Soul sick

I had a close encounter with man's inhumanity toward man a little while ago, in the form of a skinny white high school senior who had been jumped by 4 big gangsta punks. We just missed the actual beating by a minute or two. I came across him while driving my son and a classmate home. (I drive the other child each afternoon because 2 years ago he had also been jumped walking home in the same area.)

We stopped and I tried to run interference between a teacher at the school who tried to contact the boy's parents, the police, and ambulance personnel.

The boy will probably be fine.

The blood he was spitting was probably from his mouth rather than from an internal injury.

My soul is sick.

I'm not sure who I hurt more for; the boy who was kicked and beaten, or the 4 boys who did it.

So little time

So much to say, so little time...

Beloved reader, please pray for me.